The Traitor
by D.H. L'Orange
Summary: The story of Iden two-seven-four, Yeerk traitor and human-lover.
1. Chapter One

My name is Iden two-seven-four.

"Terez, I want you to go upstairs," I said intently to the nervous sixteen year old. " Pack two suitcases. Two got it? Two. One suitcase will have five changes of clothes for you, your parents, and your sister. The other suitcase will have all your toiletries."

I am a traitor to my kind.

"Then after you load the suitcases up into the van, I want you to pack a cooler with all the non-perishable foods that you can fit. Load the cooler up into the van also."

I have willing broken many of the Empire's laws.

"Then, I want you to get your Dad's tool box and shove it into the van."

I have disobeyed my superiors. I have aided a human host in her escape from the Yeerk Pool.

"After that, I want you to go around the house and grab as much cash as you can find."

When the Empire learns of the things that I have done, I shudder to think of how they will punish me.

"Terez, you have fifteen minutes," I finished. "Do you understand?"

The girl nodded, her dark curls bouncing around her heart shaped face, and her deep blue eyes flashing intently. "I understand," she said soberly. She whirled about in the passenger seat, and looked to the woman lying unconscious in the backseat. "Matt, what about her?"

I felt my heart pain as she called me Matt. Terez has never called me by my real name, Iden two-seven-four. Terez does not know my real name because she thinks that I am a human, like her. I have never told Terez otherwise; I cannot bear to.

"Mom will be alright." I promised. (I'm talking to you too, Matt. Your mom is going to be fine.) I added silently to my host.

"Terez, we have to worry about your family now." I told the beautiful girl, the girl who I loved. "Now go get the things that I said to, and I'll go get your parents!"

Terez nodded, and just before she dove from the van, she reached out and squeezed my hand, or rather my host's hand. And then Terez was out of the car, and tearing through the attached garage into the red brick two-story house.

I turned off the car, but left the keys in the ignition. I flashed a quick glance at the woman in the backseat. My host's mother, Mrs. Hutchinson, was still out cold. Satisfied, I jumped out of the van, rushing down the path that Terez had transversed but thirty seconds ago.

Thirty seconds too long, I reminded myself. Every second was precious. We had only an hour, only an hour lead on Them-if we were lucky, that was.

I hurried through the attached garage, thrust the house door out, and barged into Terez's house. It was strange, but I almost felt like I was trespassing. It had been a few months since I had last set foot in Terez's house, and then under very different circumstances. Then I had been a welcomed friend. And now?

I trotted down the hallway and into the living room.

"Mr. T? Mrs. T?" I called, trying to locate Terez's parents.

"Matt?" I heard an excited childish voice giggle. I heard a little galloping noise, and then there was Andrea, Terez's five year old little sister, running up to me with her arms outstretched.

"Matt!" Andrea greeted me with a hug. Her long dark hair was falling out of its pigtails and her blue eyes shined merrily. "I hasn't seen you ina foreva!"

I bent down and scooped the child into my arms. "Hey Andi," I said quietly, forcing the panic from my voice. It wouldn't do to alarm the child. She didn't need to know that her life was in great danger. "It's nice to see you too, kiddo. Where are your parents?"

"In the kitchen," Andrea replied as she snuggled into my arms.

I gently set the child onto the ground. "Andi," I said using my grown-up tone. "I want you to do something for me, okay?"

Andrea nodded, pigtails bobbing. Her blue eyes rested adoringly on me, ready to do whatever I asked of her.

"I want you to go into the car, and I want you to get into your seat, your special seat, and put on your seat belt." I told her. "And I want you to stay there, okay?"

Andi looked excited. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Yes," I replied slowly. "On a trip…on a vacation. Terez is coming too, and so are your parents. And Matt's-I mean-my mom is coming too. She's already in the car sleeping."

Andrea looked even more excited. Then she looked thoughtful. "I wanna get Snuggle Bear," she said suddenly. "So he can come on the trip too."

I shook my head. "No, go straight to the car and get into your seat. We have to leave right now, okay?"

Andrea lower lip trembled slightly. "But I can't leave Mr. Snuggles behind," she protested.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"In the kitchen eating dinner," she replied.

"I'll get him for you," I promised her. "Now go to the van, okay?'

Andrea nodded and both my host and I sighed in relief as we watched Andrea's curling pigtails bobbing up and down as the little girl skipped towards the garage.

(One down and two to go). Matt said quietly. I was both surprised and relieved to hear my host speaking to me. Had Matt forgiven me then?

I couldn't waste time wondering. I turned out of the living room and headed for the kitchen.

"Hey Mr. T, Mrs. T," I greeted Terez's parents as I entered the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Townley were seated around the dinner table, a skillet of fajitas sizzling in front of them. Two other places lay vacant at the table. One that had recently been abandoned by Andrea, and the other that awaited Terez.

"Hello Matt," Mr. Townley returned politely. His good-natured face gave me the once over, and his dark brown eyes eyed me suspiciously.

Mr. Townley didn't trust me then. Not that I blamed him, after what "Matt" (I) had done to his daughter, I wouldn't trust me either.

"Matt, what are you doing here?" Mr. Townley asked slowly.

I bit my lip for a second, unhappy at what I was about to do. But we had to leave as quickly as we could, and this was faster than explaining myself.

"I'm sorry Mr. T," I apologized quietly. Then I raised my Dracon beam, flipped the setting to stun, and shot two short bursts. The red beams hit on target, and Terez's parents crumpled onto the kitchen table like newspaper kindling under flame.

Stowing my Dracon in my pocket, I hurried to the kitchen table. I pulled back Mr. Townley's chair and then wrapped my arms around his waist. Then taking a deep breath, I dragged the unconscious body from the chair. Mr. Townley was heavy.

Matt was pretty muscular; he'd been on the baseball team, and lifted weights, but even so it took me about five minutes, before I managed to haul Mr. Townley's lifeless body out of the kitchen, through the garage, and into the van. Five minutes too long.

"Hey Andi," I greeted Terez's little sister. She was seated in her car-seat, her "special seat," kicking her legs back and forth in excitement. When she saw me dragging the unconscious body of her father something clicked in her eyes and she looked frightened.

"Matt! What's wrong with Daddy?" she cried in alarm.

"Nothing," I replied quickly, using a soothing tone. "Daddy's just asleep."

Andi shot me a withering look. The five-year old obviously didn't believe me.

"Sorry Andi," I apologized for the third time that night. Then I stunned the five year old with my Dracon beam. Like her father and her mother, and my host Matt's mother, Andrea fell unconscious.

I dumped Mr. Townley into the back seat of the van, and in a few more minutes, I'd deposited Mrs. Townley into the van also.

"Terez!" I called into the house. "Terez!"

"What?" I heard a breathless voice call from upstairs.

"I've got them all. We're going! Now!"

A crashing noise sounded as Terez thundered down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She dashed down the staircases, clutching two large suitcases.

"The food's in the car, and so are Dad's tools. I've got the suitcases, and the money is in my pocket." Terez wheezed.

I nodded and headed for the kitchen. Terez followed.

"Matt, what are you doing?" Terez concernedly, as I twisted the knobs on the stove.

"Turning on the gas," I explained. "When the Yeerks show up here, they're sure to be in for a nice surprise."

Terez bit her lip, and I could see the pain in her eyes as she imagined what would happen to her home when the Yeerks reached it. Then Terez gazed around her house for one last time, her eyes pausing on treasured objects: family photos, nostalgic keepsakes, family heirlooms. But then she looked passed them all, not even asking to take anything along. Terez understood that we couldn't bring anything other than the essentials. We just didn't have time to.

"So we lose the house, and some of our junk," Terez snorted finally, keeping her voice steady. "Big deal. I'm not losing my family."

I reached and squeezed her hand reassuringly. That was Terez for you, big-hearted, beautiful, and brave. It's no wonder that I fell in love with her.

"Oh, I almost forgot Mr. Snuggles," I said with a half-smile. I reached down to Andrea's vacated kitchen chair, and tucked the pink teddy bear under my arm. Then with my other hand, I took one of the suitcases from Terez.

Lugging our suitcases, Terez and I shot out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the garage. We tossed Mr. Snuggles and the luggage into the van, and then climbed into the vehicle. I hopped into the driver's seat, started the car, and quickly backed out of the driveway.

"Ready?" I turned to Terez.

"As ready as I can be," she replied softly. She gazed sadly at her house, and then at her family lying unconscious in the backseats. Seeing her family, seemed to give her some reassurance, and Terez said more firmly "Yes, I'm ready. Let's go."

I drove quickly through the neighborhoods, one red brick house blurring with the next, one well manicured lawn melting into another, and suddenly I was on the access road, and then merging onto the highway.

"Where are we going?" Terez asked lifelessly as we coasted down the freeway.

"South." I replied. "We're going to Mexico."

I was taking Terez to a place where the Yeerks would never find her, to a place where they'd never be able to infest her or her family. To a place where they could be safe.

Terez nodded, but she remained silent, privately mourning the last few memories of a place called Greenwood, and a girl named Terez Townley. Because Terez could never return to the town, and she could never be called by the name Terez. It was much too dangerous.

I drove down the freeway for hours. Soon the sun set and the moon rose.

(Iden, you have to tell her.) My host said breaking the silence. I was pleased that he was talking to me now. I hadn't heard his voice for months, not since that little girl had died in the Yeerk Pool. (You have to tell Terez the truth about what you really are. Tell her that you're a Yeerk!)

I glanced at Terez. She was gazing unseeingly out of the passenger window, her brilliant blue eyes looking dully upon the night sky. She seemed as solitary as the watery moon she stared at.

(I can't tell Terez now, Matt.) I reasoned with my host. (She just escaped the Yeerks; she can't take something like this now.)

(And what if Visser Ten catches us before you get a chance? How would she take it if she found out from him?) Matt argued.

(Well, I'm not planning on letting Tristan catch us.) I replied firmly.

(Iden, Terez needs to hear the truth, and she needs to hear it from you, because she loves you.) Matt said. (Iden, you have to tell her.)

I was quiet for a moment. (She will find out) I told Matt. My throat constricted painfully. (It'll take at least three days to reach the Mexican border).

In three days I would die from Kandrona Starvation.


	2. Chapter Two: Flashback

My story really begins about seven months ago, back before I became a traitor to my kind, back before I became Visser Ten's right-hand man, back before I fell in love with Terez, and back before I infested Matt.

On that day when my story begins, I was waiting impatiently at the host receiving area of the Yeerk Pool. My best friend, Tristan three-five-nine, was waiting with me. It was the day that Tristan and I had been anticipating for nearly three pool cycles; today we were receiving our very own hosts.

(I hope my host isn't a Taxxon,) I remember saying nervously to Tristan. (I don't think I could deal with that kind of hunger on a day-to-day basis.)

Tristan and I had heard stories about Taxxons and their hunger, horror stories, although we had never infested a Taxxon before. The only thing that Tristan and I had controlled at this point was the training Hork Bajir that all Yeerks first practice with.

(A Taxxon is fine; you just have to keep a strong control.) Tristan argued. (I don't care what I get species I get, just as long mine isn't a child.)

(Why not? A child would be fine by me.) I asked in confusion. (Any host is better than no host—unless it's a Taxxon.) I hastily amended.

I remember Tristan laughing dryly. (Iden, Iden, Iden. Since when has a Yeerk with a child for a host ever become a Visser? )

(Since never.)

(Precisely. A Visser never has a child for a host, and we'll never become Vissers One and Two with children as _our _hosts.) Tristan chided me.

Becoming Vissers One and Two, that was our dream back then. Tristan would be Visser One, and I would be Tristan's right-hand man, Visser Two. Then, being the most powerful Vissers, Tristan and I would lead the Yeerk Empire in the conquest of the galaxy. Looking back on our starry-eyed plans, I now realize that the pursuit of power was always Tristan's idea and never mine. I simply went along with Tristan's dream, because if becoming Visser was important to my oldest friend, then it was also important to me.

(Iden two-seven-four, Tristan three-five-nine prepare for host infestation) the _call_ reached Tristan and I. The _call_ is the communication network that exists inside the Yeerk Pool. Since Yeerks communicate by touching palp to palp, if one wishes to send a general message throughout the Pool, every Yeerk must participate. The sender Yeerk transmits his message via palp-to-palp contact with his nearest neighbor, who in turn transmits the message to his next nearest neighbor, and so on until the message is transmitted to the receiver Yeerk. Thus, the _call_ functions like a giant nervous system, with each Yeerk acting like nerve synapses.

(Well that's us! Guess they've got our hosts all ready!) Tristan said gleefully after we'd received the _call_. (We'd better get to the receiving platform.)

Tristan and I were already in the host receiving area, so it was short swim to the receiving platform. As I coordinated my strokes to Tristan's, it suddenly hit me that this would be my last swim with my best friend before everything changed and before Tristan and I changed. And change we would, because Tristan and I would not being going to the same place, I suddenly realized. We would be separated. I guess it was stupid of me to think that we'd be together, but up until that moment it had not even entered my mind that Tristan and I _could_ be separated. We had always been together.

What was I going to do without my best friend? I wasn't the strong one, Tristan was. He always seemed to have the answers to any problem I'd ever had, and I'd relied on his solid presence since I was barely two hours old.

(You know this will be the first time that we're going to be split up) I said suddenly saddened and worried. (You don't think that anything will happen to our friendship, do you?)

(Of course not! Iden you are so contrary to life!) Tristan's confident tone replied instantly, and Tristan's favorite saying, that I was "contrary to life" reassured me.

(Iden, you act like we're never going to see each other again!) Tristan continued. (We'll see each other every three days at feeding time. Nothing is going to change between us.)

Of course Tristan was dead wrong, but in my naivety I believed him. I guess that's me in a nut-shell, always viewing the world as I'd like it to be, and not as it actually is. Both Tristan and I have changed dramatically from fresh young Yeerks who were eagerly awaiting our first hosts. Or maybe we've just become more fully who we are. I don't know. Either way, we are no longer the inseparable pair we once were. Now that I've betrayed Tristan's precious Empire, I doubt we are even friends.

(Iden two-seven-four, your host is ready. Proceed with infestation) the _call_ passed from the Yeerks in the receiving area until it reached Tristan and I.

(Well, you're up) Tristan said enthusiastically. (See you in three days.)

The infestation proceeded without a problem. I sensed my host's ear; clambered up into the ear canal; secreted my numbing agents, and suddenly I was inside the head. Tentatively, I reached out with my palps and contacted the host's brain. A small electric current surged between my palps and the brain, and then I had access.

Human. My host was human; I knew this immediately.

The first things that I accessed were my host's physical controls. Arms, legs, mouth, eyes.

Eyes. Oh those eyes, those marvelous eyes. I could see! So many forms! So many shapes! The colors, even in the dim-light of the Yeerk Pool, all those wonderful colors! The grays, yellows, reds, browns.

Then I accessed the sound controls, and I could hear. I could hear all the different sounds. The bubbling of the Yeerk Pool, the cries of human hosts, the soft tapping of feet on the unpaved floor—perhaps nothing but noise, but to me who had heard true sound only thrice in my life-time—and each time with the poor sound reception of the training Hork Bajir— it was a symphony.

(What? Huh? What's going on? Why can't I move?) A brazen sounding voice interrupted my euphoria.

That voice? It was my host. Was it speaking to me?

(Come on feet! Move! Why can't I move? What did those monster-things do to me?)

During my practice drills with the training Hork Bajir, I had never heard my Hork Bajir host speak. That poor beast had been infested so many times that it didn't even bother acknowledging it's Yeerk masters. The Hork Bajir was so defeated that it no longer even fought the Yeerk control.

(HELP! SOMEONE HELP! I'M PARALYSED! WAIT! WHY CAN'T I TALK? WHAT DID THOSE _THINGS_ DO TO ME?)

Should I answer? Was I supposed to?

My infestation drill-officer had taught that the best way to respond to my host was by using a very direct and in-charge tone. I was supposed to inform my host that I was now in charge, and that he was merely a vessel. My training officer explained that the more in control I acted, the more defeated my host would become, and the sooner I would stop having to listen to my host's complaints.

I'm not actually a very forceful person, not really, but I could pretend, couldn't I?

(Greetings human.) I said, forcing a sneer into my voice. (Welcome to the end of your freedom.)


	3. Chapter Three: Flashback

My host was a human male, aged approximately sixteen Earth years. He was a tall, well muscled boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He was named Matt Hutchinson, and he wasn't happy with my presence.

(Get out of my head you filthy slug! Get out now! ) Matt screamed.

It was my third official day as a Controller, and I was _not_ enjoying it.

(Get out! Did you hear me! I said get out of my head now!)

After having such high hopes and expectations, I was thoroughly depressed about how things had turned out with my host, because unlike the training Hork Bajir that I'd practiced with, Matt was anything but 'broken in'. Matt had screamed and demanded and yelled since I had infested him. I'd had to listen to his enraged voice during the day while I attended his school, after school when I played on his baseball team, and then all during dinner with his mother. My host even screamed during the night when my host body was supposed to be resting.

I was going crazy. Three days of nothing but listening to his screaming had pushed me to the edge. I just didn't know how to make Matt stop fighting me. The more forceful I tried to act, the more irate the human would become and the louder he would yell. And I had already tried all the things my infestation drill-officer had taught me. I had used a forceful tone and told my host that I was in charge. I had demonstrated to the human that I was in control of his body. I had even threatened to infest his mother. But nothing worked. I was about as 'in control' of Matt as Matt was in control of his body. I felt like a failure of a Yeerk.

(No you don't! Don't you dare sit down and eat breakfast with my mom! DO YOU HEAR ME! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!)

I grimaced as Matt screamed even louder, but still pulled up at chair at the breakfast table with Mrs. Hutchinson, Matt's mother.

(Quiet human.) I said as with as much scorn as I could muster-after three very long days it wasn't much.

(GET OUT OF THAT CHAIR! DON'T YOU DARE EAT WITH MY MOM!)

I rubbed wearily at my host's temples. (Stop shouting.)

Matt just ignored me and shouted all the louder.

Already I was anticipating my feeding that evening at the Yeerk Pool. One hour of silence. One hour of nothing but wonderful silence.

(GET OUT OF THAT CHAIR YOU PIECE OF TRASH!)

If I couldn't shut him up, could I tune him out?

(GET OUT OF THAT CHAIR!)

Don't listen. Just ignore it. Ignore it.

(HEY! I'M TALKING TO YOU! GET OUT OF THAT CHAIR!)

Think of something else. Think. Remember that time that Tristan taught you how to blow bubbles, and then

(GET UP!)

Tristan and you swam around the Yeerk Pool, blowing out your ABC's? And then

(GET OUF OF THAT CHAIR!)

you accidentally blew bubbles into sub-visser 512's face and

(GET UP NOW!)

Tristan got you out of trouble by lying to the sub-visser and telling him that you had

(YOU SLIME! YOU YEERK SLIME!)

a gastrol disorder and

"Matt honey, I asked you if you're going to be needing a ride home from Youth Group, tonight," a female voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Huh? What?"

I turned to look at Matt's mother. The dark-haired woman, pursed her lips, her blue eyes shinning worriedly. "Matt, sweet-heart, are you feeling alright?" She asked in concern. Matt's mother was always concerned-it had only been Matt and his mother for years. "You seem a little distracted this morning."

(You get up from this table RIGHT NOW! Leave my mom alone!)

"Yea, I'm good." I lied. My head was being beaten worse than the Andalite fleet against a Yeerk Blade Ship!

"You don't look so good," Mrs. Hutchinson said. "Do you want to just cancel on Youth Group tonight?"

Cancel out on Youth Group? That meant an extra hour at the Yeerk Pool. An extra hour all to myself, without having to listen to Matt's irritating voice?

"I think that might be a good idea," I replied, trying not to sound too relieved.

Mrs. Hutchinson nodded. "I'll call Reverend Thrower and let him know you won't be going."

Then she did something that completely surprised me. She raised her hand to my forehead and held it there. Her touch was cool against my skin.

(Get out of my head and leave my mom alone!)

"Well, you seem alright," Mrs. Hutchinson declared a minute later. She shook her head thoughtfully. "Matty, you're not pushing yourself too hard during baseball practice again, are you?"

Was I supposed to answer?

I supposed not, because Mrs. Hutchinson simply continued. "You'd better not be going overboard again. You know what happened last time, and you don't want to sit out this season with another muscle tear, do you?"

"Uh, no?" That was the correct answer.

Mrs. Hutchinson sighed. "Well you'd better get going sweetie, it's almost time for your bus."

"Alright," I said, rising from the table and heading for the front door.

"Oh, Matty aren't you forgetting something?"

(NO! NO! NO! DON'T DO IT MOM!)

I turned around to face Matt's mother. "This will be the third day in a row that you've forgotten," she said quietly.

(NO! IT'S NOT ME, MOM! IT'S AN IMPOSTER).

"Or maybe you think that you're too old to have to kiss your mother good-bye, huh?"

Mrs. Hutchinson ruffled my hair sadly. "Growing up so fast," she sighed.

(DON'T MOM!)

And then Mrs. Hutchinson leaned over and planted a small kiss on my cheek.

(NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!)

Matt's mother smiled lovingly at me." You might be a young man now, but you'll always be my Matty."

That's when my host began to cry.


	4. Chapter Four: Flashback

After I had received his mother's kiss on my forehead, Matt had howled. He had howled in anger. He had howled in fury. Sometimes he shouted. For eight hours at Matt's school and then another hour during baseball practice I was subjected to his bellowing. Nine hours! Nine hours of nothing but Matt's screaming! My brain felt like it was going to explode! If my host wasn't making my life a perpetual migraine, I'd almost have respected Matt for his tenacity; his resolve amazed me.

And then baseball practice had finally ended, and trying not to look too eager, I had rushed to the mall to 'run an errand.' Within fifteen minutes I was relaxing in the cool waters of the Yeerk Pool.

Peace. Finally peace. The calm plashing of the Pool waters, the great relief of silence. And finally I was reunited with Tristan, my oldest friend. I had not seen Tristan for three days, our longest period of separation ever.

(And you wouldn't believe these humans) Tristan was laughing (They really have no idea of the Yeerk invasion! My host really thought he was joining a 'family oriented' club! The Sharing ha! As if anyone would wish to waste their time 'sharing' anything with that fool!)

Tristan and I had found our way to our familiar area of the pool. Tristan was telling me in great and excited rushes of his experiences as a Controller.

(And do you know what else? Before being infested, my host had urged all his comrades to join the Sharing as well! So that means I'll get the credit for bringing in five new hosts!)

Tristan was quite pleased with his host, Robert van Hoslen, an adult human. Robert was a policeman, an occupation that both Tristan and I found ridiculous. It was Robert's job (and now Tristan's) to capture humans who harmed other humans. The human "criminals" were then penned into a "prison" where they were fed and entertained, while they were "rehabilitated." Tristan and I found Robert's occupation quite comical because in the Yeerk heiracy there was no need for "policemen". A Yeerk who harmed his fellows was simply executed, not captured and "rehabilitated."

(With those five hosts plus all the new hosts I'm sure to gain, I'll be promoted to a sub-visser at least! And when I convince some of my host's fellow law officers I'll- Iden! Are you listening to me?) Tristan suddenly stopped.

(I-er-yes,) I replied hastily.

(No you're not) Tristan argued.

(I was.) I protested.

The truth was that after three long days of listening to Matt's hollering, my mind had puddled. I was having trouble following a rational thought pattern let alone following what Tristan was saying. My poor battered mind had slowly turned in upon itself, wanting no more than to bask in the nothingness that had accompanied the temporary loss of my host.

(Iden, what's wrong?)

(Nothing,) I replied quickly.

(Iden, I've known you since you were two hours,) Tristan said impatiently. (Something's wrong).

I sighed. I wanted to tell Tristan what was bothering me, because Tristan, being Tristan, could tell me what to do. Tristan _always_ knew what to do. At the same time however, I was almost embarrassed to tell my best friend about my dilemma with Matt. How was it that my time with my host was so miserable, while Tristan was so thoroughly enjoying his time as a Controller? Was I such a failure of a Yeerk?

(Iden…)

I sighed, deciding to tell Tristan the truth. Tristan would know what to do to help me.

(I'm having trouble with my host,) I finally admitted.

(How so?)

I groaned. (He just won't stop fighting me!) I complained. (I mean, he Just. Won't. Stop! All he does is shout: morning, afternoon, evening! Shout! Shout! SHOUT! He even shouts us to sleep!) I was so tired, so tired. (I feel like I'm going to lose my mind! He just won't stop shouting!)

I felt drained, like a baka tree that had shriveled under too much moonlight. I just wanted to swim to my favorite corner of the pool, and hide there.

Tristan was quiet for a moment, reviewing what I had just confessed to him. (And you've tried threatening him?) He asked thoughtfully.

(Yeah, I told him I'd infest his mom if he didn't quiet) I replied wearily.

(No, I mean did you try memory threatening him?)

I shifted uncomfortably at the suggestion.

(Iden, you dimwitted Andalite! You mean you haven't memory threatened your host one time since you got him?) Tristan asked incredulously.

(I…er…)

(Iden you are so contrary to life!)

In all honesty I didn't feel comfortable with the tactic. Memory threatening: invading my host's mind and finding an unpleasant memory, then threatening to replay that memory anytime my host acted up. The thought of using memory threatening to control my host unnerved me. I controlled my host's body because I had no choice—I couldn't live the rest of my life both blind and deaf! But trespassing upon the privacy of my host's mind? Something about that thought just didn't bode well with me.

(Come on Iden, I know you've never really liked the idea, but memory threatening is a tried and true method) Tristan cajoled me.

(Yea, I know) I sighed. (It is the "most sure mode" of controlling one's host) I remarked, dryly quoting our infestation drill officer.

(Well it is) Tristan returned. (And besides you're a Yeerk!) He added. (If you weren't supposed to be able to enter a host's memories you wouldn't be able to.)

There was a certain logic to what Tristan was saying.

And yet... (I'm just not sure I feel comfortable mind threatening my host.)

(Well do you really want to listen to your host's fussing?)

(No.)

(And do you think you can go for another three days without hearing yourself think?)

Another three days?

I shuddered.

(No, I can't) I admitted.

Still memory threatening just didn't seem right somehow, and I couldn't really explain my reluctance.

Tristan must have sensed my remaining unease, because then he asked (Iden how do you think you will ever become my Visser Two if you can't even control your first host?)

I couldn't. And hadn't it always been Tristan and my dream to become the top ranking Vissers?

Tristan was right, I realized. I needed to control my host, and if I had to use to mind threatening, then I would, even if I was uncomfortable with it.

But still… (You're sure this will work?)

Tristan chuckled cockily. (Of course it will Iden! Since when have I led you wrong?)

* * *

When I re-infested Matt, I immediately followed Tristan's suggestion.

(Alright _human_, now you listen to me!) I snapped, steeling authority into my voice. (You'll stop shouting at me, and you'll be quiet, and you won't keep us up until all hours of the night!)

(Get out of my head you filthy slug!) Matt snapped back.

(I'm warning you, either listen to me or you're not going to like the consequences) I cautioned him.

(You dirty worm! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!)

That did it.

To control his body, I had already accessed the most primitive parts of Matt's mind. However, I hadn't yet entered the more complex areas of his brain, the areas where Matt's memories were stored.

Truthfully this was the first time I had _ever _attempted to access the memories of _any _host. Since I had never felt comfortable, I had never tapped into the memories of the training Hork Bajir.

What if I couldn't enter the memory portion of my Matt's brain? What if I did something wrong? What if I permanently damaged my host?

I knew I was going to mess up something.

Slowly, tentatively I stretched out my palps, reaching for the deep crevices of Matt's brain. Then carefully, cautiously I contacted what I thought was the part of Matt's brain where his memories were stored.

(What are you doing?) Matt asked suspiciously.

Ignoring him, I painstakingly established a connection between my palps and the memory portion of the brain. As I nervously tried to extract a memory from Matt's brain, I prayed that I didn't make a mistake. I prayed that I didn't accidentally maim my host.

And then it was like something snapped! inside of me. Suddenly, the instincts of my Yeerk body responded, and I just seemed to know what to do. I felt myself establish an electric connection with Matt's brain; I felt myself execute a series of input commands, and then I felt—

Information flooded my mind, a long river of thoughts and images.

_Matt hitting a home run during a baseball game. Matt receiving an award during an Honor Roll Assembly. Matt joking around with his best friend Steve._

(HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! STAY OUT OF THERE! )

_Matt and his mother laughing over a game of cards. A thirteen year-old Matt dressing up as Batman at Halloween. An eleven year-old Matt making Mother's Day Breakfast in bed for his mom._

(GET THE HELL OUT OF MY MIND!)

Thoughts swirled through my head. Pictures from different places, different times. The memories crashed against my Yeerk brain like waves breaking against a dune. It was all that I could do to cling tightly to my mind link and keep myself from drowning under the deluge of memories.

_A ten-year-old Matt playing Joseph in the Church Christmas Pageant. _

(GET THE HELL OUT OF MY MIND!) Matt's voice took on a fearful, almost desperate tone.

_Matt playing first base in the Little League regional qualifiers. And then_

_Why did the all the rooms in the hospital have to be painted white? Didn't they know that Dad hated white? A seven year-old Matt wanted to know. Dad said that he was getting sick of looking at the white walls in the hospital. Although why Dad just wouldn't leave the hospital and come home, Matt didn't know. Didn't Dad like home anymore? _

_Matt missed Dad. Matt missed playing catch with Dad, and playing action figures with Dad. Matt missed reading the Hardy Boys Mysteries with Dad—Dad always figured those out! And Matt missed how Dad tucked Matt in at night, the way that Dad whooshed the sheets up like a great tent for Matt to hide under, and then after Matt had burrowed deep under the bed sheets, Dad would say "Oh no! Where did Matt go?" and Matt would jump up and say, "here I am!"_

_Why wouldn't Dad come home? Why wouldn't he leave the hospital?_

_And now Mom was gone a lot too. She was visiting Dad at the hospital all the time, and Auntie Becky had come all the way from Wisconsin to live with Matt and Mom for a couple of months. _

_Matt looked up at Auntie Becky as they trudged down the hallway to Dad's hospital room. "Auntie Becky, do you think that Dad will come home with us today?" he asked hopefully._

_"Maybe he will, kiddo," Auntie Becky replied in her cheerful "talking-to-Matt" kind of way. Matt didn't know why, but he didn't think Auntie Becky was telling the truth. _

_Matt followed Auntie Becky down the white walled hallway. He was careful only to step in the middle of the shiny white tiles that lined the hallway floor. His best friend, Steve, had told Matt that if Matt stepped on a crack he'd break his mother's back, and Matt sure didn't want Mom to have to be in the hospital too. Matt didn't want Dad to have to be in the hospital either, but no one seemed to listen to what Matt wanted anymore._

_Auntie Becky and Matt walked down a long white hallway, and then down another white hallway. All the hallways were white. All the floors were white. Everything was white! Matt had no idea where they were; they were lost in one giant white maze. Did Dad ever get lost in the hospital?_

_And then Auntie Becky stopped in front of a door. She turned around to squeeze Matt's hand. "Here we are, Matty, your Daddy's room." Auntie Becky said quietly. She smiled down at Matt, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes._

_Aunt Becky walked through the open door, and Matt slowly followed her into the hospital room. He didn't see Dad in the room, but Mom was there. Mom looked up at Matt, and her eyes filled with tears._

_Matt was scared. Moms weren't supposed to cry. It was a grown-up rule; moms weren't supposed to cry._

_"Matty, my baby," Mom said as she walked over to Matt and Auntie Becky. Mom leaned over and scooped Matt into a hug. Then, carrying the little boy over to the bedside, she deposited him next to the bed._

_There was something in the bed, Matt realized. A strange creature. A bony, yellowish tinged creature, with glassy blue eyes. The creature had all sorts of funny tubes and wires running out of it._

"David, look who I've brought to see you," Mom said to the funny-looking creature. "It's your Matty."

_The thing in the bed smiled weakly. "Matty." It wheezed._

_Matt was frightened. He looked at his Mom and then at Auntie Becky._

_"Aren't you going to say hi to your dad?" Mom asked gently._

_Matt stared at the creature in the bed, and slowly his father's face seemed to blur into focus. Why did Dad look so funny? And why did he have all those wires poking in his face?_

_"Matty. You came to see me," Dad said slowly._

_Something was really wrong. Dad looked so strange, and Mom had tears in her eyes. And suddenly Matt wanted to run. He wanted to run out of the hospital room with it's too white walls, and away from Dad laying in his hospital bed with all the funny wires poking his face. _

_Instead, and for no reason that he understood, Matt started to cry._

The memory ended, and without knowing how, I stopped the steady streaming of images. I didn't want to see anymore.

As I wrenched my palps free of the memory portion of Matt's brain, Matt was silent. He didn't scream. He didn't shout. He didn't say a word, not one word.

And suddenly the world around me became quiet. Painfully quiet. I felt the need for motion, for doing something. I needed to say something—anything-to break up the silence.

"Threaten your host, " Tristan had told me. Threaten my host.

(Next time you feel like yelling at me, I'm going to play that) I said woodenly, forcing a sneer into my tone. For some odd reason my voice seemed strained to me.

(So…so you'd better be quiet!) I added. (Be quiet!)

But my host didn't answer. He remained silent. He would remain silent through that night and the next morning and the day after that. Matt was quiet for days, and his silence quickly became as deafening as his previous screaming had been.

I almost longed to hear his voice.

Soon after viewing Matt's private memories, a strange numbing sensation descended over the back of my mind. Although I succeeded in ignoring this feeling, it would remain my constant companion over the next few weeks, periodically prickling at my conscious like a shard of broken glass. I would experience this numbing sensation whenever I thought about the memory and its effect on subduing my host. Only much later would I find a word to describe this feeling.

Shame.


	5. Chapter Five

Matt and I had driven all through the night. Sipping a giant mug of cold coffee and listening to AM talk radio, we had taken turns at the steering wheel forcing ourselves to remain alert through out the stale hours of the night. Matt had driven until midnight, and then I'd taken over while he passed out in the recesses of our shared mind. As for the other passengers: Terez slumbered soundly in the passenger front seat, and Andrea and the adults remained unconscious in the back of the gray mini-van.

Four hundred miles. Between Matt and I we had driven roughly four hundred miles from our town. It was far, but not far enough. If we could take the most direct route, it was still roughly four hundred and fifty miles from the Mexican-American border. Almost a full day of driving. Too long. Not that I expected us to continue on the interstate for much longer. We'd been lucky that we hadn't encountered any pursuing Controllers yet, but it was only a matter of time. Soon we'd have to turn off of the fast-moving interstate to head for the little-used back country highways. We would then be traveling a further distance at a slower pace; we'd have no other choice.

The enemy was after us, of that I was sure. I was no lowly Yeerk to be easily dismissed and forgotten. I was Sub-Visser fourteen, Visser Ten's second in command. Freeing a host had insured my death sentence as well as the deaths of all those humans aided, if only to serve as a deterrent to any other Yeerk contemplating a rescue mission. (Not many would). By now I'm sure that my story would had wound it's way around the Yeerk Pool. Iden two-seven-four had aided a host in her escape. Yes Iden two-seven-four, Visser Ten's most trusted underling. I am sure Tristan was furious with me.

But I didn't care. If They captured me, if They tortured me, even if They executed me, it would all be worth it. Terez and her family, and Matt and his mother would be free. Even when I died of Kandrona starvation it would all be worth it. In less than two days my friends would be free; I could die peacefully knowing that they were safe.

'And now we have Ryan on the line from Oklahoma who has a question about iris bulbs,' the radio talk-show host announced. 'Caller you are on the air.'

'I'm on? Yes, hello? Hi, Alex. Before I begin, I just want to say that I am a huge fan of your radio program! I wake up every morning at 4 AM just to catch it—'

'Why thank you Ryan, I appreciate the compliment.'

"Yuck, you'd think that a person would have something better to be doing at four in the morning than listening to a show about flower bulbs," Terez yawned thickly as her eyelids flickered open. After rolling her shoulders back in a loosening stretch, Terez pulled her chair into the upright position. "Some of us are asleep at that time," she muttered.

For a brief second I flitted my eyes off of the road to soak up the image of a slightly sleep-disheveled but undeniably beautiful Terez. Her curly black hair hung loosely to frame her heart-shaped face, and her blue eyes glimmered, still a little disoriented from just waking up. And she was smiling. Smiling at me. Not one of those special smiles—the kind that she used to reserve for me and me alone—but one of her everyday smiles. Still Terez was smiling at me, as slight as it was, and it had been months since she'd done even that. I didn't know whether to be thoroughly depressed or thoroughly elated.

My eyes returned to the road, to the unending line of blue asphalt carelessly winding its way through the gray stillness. It was 5:30 in the morning, and the sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon, washing the cold landscape in a pale yellowish glow. It would soon be time for me to wake up Matt so that we could switch driving shifts. Although I am a Yeerk and therefore don't require sleep for survival (just a refreshing swim in the Yeerk Pool to replenish Kandrona nutrients), after five hours of uninterrupted driving I needed a break from the intense concentration of battling interstate traffic.

"Ugh, its five thirty in the morning," Terez yawned again. She absently combed a stray hand through her curly black hair. "You know I can't even remember the last time I voluntarily woke up this early."

I laughed easily. "Probably never."

"Too true Matt, too true." Terez grinned, her blue eyes shining even at this awful early hour. "Although I can't complain considering that you've been awake and driving since yesterday evening."

I shrugged. "I had help," I replied, thoughtlessly referring to Matt.

Terez frowned in confusion. As far as she knew, "Matt" was the only other driver in the mini-van. The other adults were still unconscious.

"Coffee helped me," I tried to cover-up my slip. I indicated the silver travel mug that rested in the driver's side cup-holder as evidence.

"Ah," Terez shrugged her acceptance.

Terez doesn't know about me. She doesn't know that I am a Yeerk co-existing in Matt's body, and I'm not ready to let her know about me yet. I couldn't bare to see the look of disgust when the girl that I love finds out that I'm a Yeerk. When she realizes that I'm nothing more than a slimy slug, kin of the enemy she's just escaped.

"Folgers is my friend,"I added, reaching for the coffee. The travel mug was almost empty, the small amount of remaining coffee cold. Over the course of the night, the sugar I'd sweetened the drink with had slowly settled to the bottom.

"Bottoms up." I winced as the cold, bitter, and overly sugared liquid assaulted my mouth.

It was disgusting! I wanted to spit the drink back into the plastic mug, but Matt's body needed the caffeine. Although I could switch driving shifts with Matt so that his brain could sleep at some point, Matt's body still required sleep to function properly. And since Matt and I just didn't have the time to allow his body to rest, caffeine was the next best thing. I forced myself to swallow the cold coffee, cringing at the taste as I did so.

The look on my face must have been something awful because I heard Terez giggling.

"This stuff is horrible!" I complained, pleased when Terez only laughed harder. The sound made me smile: I had missed her laughter.

(Hey, what's with all the noise? Some of us are trying to sleep around here,) in the back of my shared mind, a voice groaned in protest. Matt had awakened. (And yuck! What have you been drinking, Iden? It tastes like something up and died inside of our mouth!)

(And a good morning to you too sunshine,) I tried to hide my relief at hearing Matt's voice beneath a cheeky reply. I wasn't sure yet whether or not Matt had forgiven me—if he _ever_ could forgive me—but just the fact alone that he was even speaking to me held promise. (You ready to trade driving shifts?) I asked Matt.

The sixteen year old just thought-yawned in response. (Gimme a sec to wake up).

Steering the wheel and watching the road, I waited patiently as Matt's mind slowly revved up to its 'awake' mode.

(You know,) Matt's voice flowed easily as he cleared his sleep-fogged brain. (It'd be really awesome if Terez knew how to drive on the interstate or even just the highway.)

I spared a glance at Terez who was now staring quietly out the window. Then I thought-shrugged, inadvertently shrugging Matt's shoulders as well. (She's only done the highway once before in driver's ed.) I reminded him. (She doesn't feel comfortable with it or the interstate.)

(True, but we still need reinforcements,) Matt pointed out. (Between you and me, Iden I don't think we can hold up for two more days of driving.)

And although Matt meant that he didn't think his sleep deprived body could sustain two more days without rest, the unintentional double meaning in Matt's choice of words clung to the air as clear-cut and defined as a razor's edge. The second reason that Matt and I couldn't hold up for two more days of driving was because _I_ couldn't hold up for two more days. In two days I would die from Kandrona starvation.

It was going to be a painful death.

(Well maybe we could get some of the parents to act as relief drivers,) Matt's voice held a note of apology. He hadn't meant to remind me of my gruesome, yet inevitable fate. (I mean there are three of them, afterall, and I'm sure that they'll help us out. After we convince them we're not insane, that is.) He joked, trying to lighten my suddenly somber mood.

I laughed dryly. None of the adults knew anything about the Yeerk invasion. It was going to be no easy task convincing the parents that not only were they in danger of being captured by aliens, but that they had no other choice than becoming fugitives and fleeing to Mexico.

(It's going to take some convincing,) I agreed.

A low moaning sounded from the back seat. Hesistantly, I flicked a glance into my rear-view mirror. From the reflection of the back of the gray mini-van, Matt and I could just make out the choppy, first-morning gestures of an arm stretching.

"They're waking up." I didn't need to alert Terez. The girl had already turned from her window to peer cautiously at the four bodies in the back of the mini-van: the three adults crumpled on the floor and Terez's younger sister, Andrea, slumbering peacefully in the car seat.

(Things are going to get pretty hairy, pretty quick.) Matt commented.

(Yeah, they are.) I nodded Matt's head emphatically.

Mr. Townley, Terez's father, was the first of the passengers to come to.

Matt and I watched in the rear view mirror as the curly black haired man slowly raised his slumped body from the floor. "What the? Where?" Mr. Townley's thick morning voice stumbled. He peered at his surroundings in confusion. Large hands went to rub his dark brown eyes, trying to blot out the remaining dreamlike illusion. However, after rubbing away the sleep-sand, the dream hadn't faded; he was still sitting on the floor of his mini-van. "What the? Why? What am I doing in here?" He suddenly grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. "Wow, everything can stop spinning now." He groused. An aftereffect of the Dracon beam was temporary light-headedness and dizziness.

After steadying himself, Mr. Townley looked about once more. This time Mr. Townley noticed his wife's prone form resting on the gray carpet beside him. Mrs. Townley was still unconscious, garbed in the red blouse and black slacks she'd worn at dinner the night before. Mrs. Townley's clothes were tousled, as was the short black hair that circled her head like a halo.

Mr. Townley stared at his wife in concern, before leaning over her slumbering form. "Maria? Maria wake up." Mr. Townley gently shook his wife's unconscious body.

"Mhhhmm, Alec, did I sleep through the alarm again?" Mrs. Townley glazed, her voice soft-spoken as always. Delicate eyelids slowly flitted and then whooshed open in sudden shock. "This isn't my bed! Alec, where am I?"

"I don't know Maria," Mr. Townley's voice was dumbfounded. "I think we're in the back of the mini-van."

"But how did—"

"Relax Mom and Dad, everything's alright." Terez, always level-headed, broke through the confusion. Her cool voice rode to the back of the car to steady her bewildered parents.

"Terez?" Mrs. Townley slowly rearranged her body to face the front of the car, seeking the face of her oldest daughter. "Ooo, I feel so dizzy," Mrs. Townley murmured softly.

"I'm here Mom," Terez reassured, twisting around in her chair so that her mother could get a better view of Terez's face. "Andi is here too, in her car seat. She's still unconscious."

"Unconscious?" Mrs. Townley's deep blue eyes flashed in worry, and she quickly sought the form of her five year old daughter. Andrea was curled up into the familiar car seat. The little girl's eyes were closed, and her curly, black pigtails framed her cherub's face.

"It's okay, Mom. She'll wake up pretty soon. The Dracon was only set on stun. Andi will be fine," Terez's calming voice tried to soothe her mother. Hearing that her youngest daughter was alright, Mrs. Townley nodded weakly.

"Terez, what's going on? Why are we in the mini-van? " Mr. Townley tried to be rational, wanting to sort out the logistics of the situation, but through the waves of Dracon-induced dizziness, I'm sure he was having trouble thinking clearly. "My head is kind of a mess. The last thing I remember was sitting down to dinner. And who's this woman?" In the reflection of the rearview mirror, I watched as Terez's father indicated the still unconscious form of Matt's mother, Mrs. Hutchinson. Over the course of the night, Mrs. Hutchinson's long brown hair had unraveled from its ponytail, and now hung hapharzardly at her shoulders.

"That's Matt's mother," Terez informed her father.

"Matt?" Mrs. Townley started at the mention of my name, and she frowned delicately.

"I'm assuming then that Matt's here?" Mr. Townley asked wearily, his brown eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

(Time to shine,) I thought-spoke to Matt, almost bitterly.

"Hey Mr. and Mrs. Townley," I removed a hand from the wheel to offer a tentative wave.

"Hello," was the Townley's polite, one-word response. If they were another family, I doubt that the Townley's would have even offered me a greeting, after what "Matt" had done to their daughter. Still, compared to the warm greetings of "hey Matt, how you doing?" or "nice to see you again son," I felt disheartened at the Townley's distant politeness.

(At least they said hello,) Matt tried to cheer me.

(I guess.)

"What's Matt doing here Terez?" Mr. Townley asked flatly. He was a good-natured man, warm and receptive , with a smattering of humor. Yet he was fiercely protective of his family, even vicious when he thought his loved ones were being threatened.

"Uh…" Terez hesistated, unsure of the answer. I think Terez wanted to wait until Matt's mother was awake and all the adults were lucid before launching into the details of the Yeerk invasion and the reasons behind our little road-trip to Mexico. "Matt is here to help." Terez settled on finally.

In the rearview mirror, I watched as Mr. Townley's brown eyes narrowed, and it seemed that he would interject, but a moaning noise sounded, cutting off his chance. All eyes turned to the brown-haired woman on the floor, and as we watched, Matt's mother began to stir.

"Ohhhhh," Matt's mother moaned in pain. Her eyes flickered open, but she seemed unaware of her surroundings. "Ohhhhh, my head."

Mrs. Townley was instantly at the other woman's side, gently gripping Mrs. Hutchinson's arm.

"Here, easy now," Mrs. Townley cautioned.

Matt's mother winced as she was aided into a sitting position. "My head. I feel like I—," her voice halted mid-sentence. Mrs. Hutchinson's gray eyes widened in alarm, as she took in the mini-van and it occupants. "Where am I?"

"Its okay Mom," Matt took control of our shared vocal chords to reassure his mother.

"Matty?" Mrs. Hutchinson's even-toned voice broke. "Matty what's going on?" She asked seemingly bewildered, before a fresh wave of pain washed over her and rendered her incapable of rational thought. "Oh, my head." Mrs. Hutchinson moaned, touching tentative fingers to the bridge of nose.

"Here now, don't move so," Mrs. Townley's soft-spoken voice advised Matt's mother.

Because we'd picked up Matt's mother first, we'd needed Mrs. Hutchinson to remain unconscious for a longer period of time. Consequently the intensity level of the Dracon I'd used to stun Mrs. Hutchinson with was just a tad higher than the levels I'd given to Terez's family. The aftereffects of the Dracon burst I had given Matt's mother were slightly more severe, giving her a massive migrane instead of the lingering dizziness the Townley's felt.

"Ohhhh my head."

"It's okay mom," Matt once again took control of our vocal chords.

"My poor head."

"Don't worry," I cut in to reassure Matt's mother as well as Matt. "It will wear off soon."

(She'll be fine after about an hour,) I thought-spoke to Matt in our shared brain.

(What about before the hour? She looks like she's in pain,) he worried.

"Terez?" I turned my eyes briefly from the road to the curly haired girl in the passenger seat. "Did you bring any Tylenol?"

Catching my eyes, Terez nodded. "Yeah Matt, I grabbed a bunch of medicines at the house. I stuck the Tylenol in the glove compartment, I think." She fished through the glove compartment and after a moment had produced a plastic pill bottle. Turning around, she tossed the medicine back to her father. "Here Dad. There's some water bottles in the trunk," she told her father.

Although I could tell that Mr. Townley wanted to know just _why_ every thermos the Townley's owned was filled with water and resting in the mini-van's trunk, along with a cooler full of food, several suitcases, and Mr. Townley's toolbox, Terez's father ignored his curiosity for the moment being and snatched the closest bottle of water. Then, turning about, he handed the water to Matt's mother along with two Tylenol tablets.

With trembling hands, Mrs. Hutchinson accepted the proffered pills, but when Mr. Townley tried to hand her the thermos, she was unable to grasp the plastic bottle of water. Mrs. Hutchinson could only blush in embarrassment as Mr. Townley held the water steady while she took a drink and downed the pain relievers.

(That should help take some of the edge off of the migrane,) I thought-spoke to Matt.

(Thanks Iden.)

While her husband was administering the medicine to Mrs. Hutchinson, Terez's mother had been quietly reviewing the situation, fighting through her lightheadedness and dizziness. I watched in the rearview mirror as Mrs. Townley slowly moved her eyes back and forth from my form to the surrounding mini-van, careful to avoid any quick movements that would make her feel even dizzier than she already was. The brooding look in her eyes told me that she was trying to ascertain what exactly was going on.

Watching Terez's mother, I could practically hear Mrs. Townley's thoughts: Why had she and her family awakened unconscious in her mini-van? Why were Matt and his mother here as well? Why was Matt driving? What happened the night before?

And as I watched Mrs. Townley, suddenly a light sparked in her deep blue eyes and the gentle, kind-hearted woman let out a startled "Oh my!"

Instantly Mr. Townley's attention was for his wife. "Maria? Maria are you alright?"

But Mrs. Townley just shook her head mutely, her deep blue eyes distant and reflective. "Oh my," she said again.

"Maria?" Mr. Townley prompted, staring at his wife in concern. Mrs. Townley looked past him, looking in my direction.

"Matt!" The hitch in Mrs. Townley's generally mild tone made me cringe. In the rearview mirror, Mrs. Townley found my eyes. "Matt I remember," she said lowly.

Mrs. Townley's deep blue eyes flashed in a sudden accusation, and I gulped.

"I remember what happened last night, Matt. You shot us."


	6. Chapter 6: Flashback

Christianity. I didn't understand it then, and there are parts of it that I don't understand now.

I know why the humans cling to it. The concept of forgiveness, the idea that even after committing the most atrocious acts imaginable one can start anew is pretty attractive. The idea that life is transient, and that a glowing afterlife exists would make any life, no matter how miserable, bearable. According to Matt, in death everyone will be reunited with their loved ones in a mythical place called Heaven. In Heaven everyone is happy; there is no evil.

It's a wonderful fantasy.

Still there are things about Matt's Christianity that even now, I cannot accept. If the humans' God is god of all the universe, then why are humans the only species worth "saving"? What about the Geds or the Leerans or even the Andalites? What about the Yeerks? Matt says that being "saved" applies to everyone, regardless of what species they are. I say that if this is true, then why is Earth the only planet that knows about "God's plan"? If Matt's god really wanted all species to be "saved" then why hasn't Matt's god told the other species?

But this is an old argument between Matt and I, and it has little to do with my story.

I had now been in control of Matt's body for about a month. After the memory threatening incident, my host had finally ceased fighting me. In fact he had ceased speaking at all. I continued to go about Matt's daily life: going to the places Matt would go to, doing the things that Matt would do, speaking with the people Matt would speak to. Living Matt's life.

One of Matt's obligations included attending his twice weekly Youth Group. Youth Group, in a nutshell –as the humans say— is the authentic version of what the Sharing insinuates to be. Raised on Yeerk double agendas, it took me some time to realize that the Youth Group was sincere in its intentions; that the Youth Group's purpose really was just to help others. At the Tuesday Youth Group meetings, the human youth, led by the aging Reverend Thrower, would discuss all manner of their religion: love, compassion, forgiveness, charity. Then on the Thursday gatherings, the human youth were spurred to action. One Thursday the Youth Group served soup at the homeless shelter, another Thursday they traveled to a nearby nursing home and spent the evening interacting with the elderly, still another Thursday was spent entertaining the children in the children's wing of the town hospital.

I attended each of the meetings and all of the gatherings, and I kept waiting for the Youth Group's true motives to manifest. After all, the human youths gained nothing by "helping those in need". No personal gain. No gain for the humans as a group. So why do it?

"Come on Matt, get that hustle on, or we're going to be late!"

It was a typical Tuesday evening, and I was finishing my change-out in the baseball locker room while Matt's best friend Steve, already showered and dressed, waited impatiently on the wooden locker room bench.

Matt and Steve participated in the human sport of baseball. Matt was something called a short stop and Steve was something called a catcher.

"I'm going. I'm going. Just got to finish tying my shoes," I replied with an exaggerated sigh. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Super Steve. We'll be on time."

It was now easy for me to pretend to be Matt. When I had trespassed into Matt's mind to memory threaten him, on Yeerk instinct I had somehow absorbed most of Matt's mannerisms as well as a basic knowledge of Matt's likes and dislikes. I now knew how Matt shook hands. I knew what Matt liked on his pizza. I knew to call Matt's best friend Super Steve.

Steve was called Super Steve for a reason. An all-around exceptional human youth, Steve was on many sports teams and school clubs, and he was a very good student. Steve was in Youth Group with Matt, and as suspicious as I was of the Youth Group's motives, even I could tell at the time that Steve was genuine in what he did. Steve really did believe he could make the world a better place.

I am a poor judge of human aesthetics, but Terez once told me that girls thought that Steve was 'godawful handsome', whatever that means. Steve is taller than Matt. Steve's hair is the color yellow, and his eyes are the color green. When I first knew Steve he smiled a lot, and he laughed a lot.

It is my fault that he no longer does either.

"You know Super Steve," I finished tying the left shoe, "no one's stopping you from walking to Youth Group." In a very Matt-like gesture, I notched my head at the locker room door, indicating with Matt's blue eyes the obvious invitation.

Steve grinned good-naturedly. "Go ahead, rub it in. It's not my fault I don't turn sixteen until summer."

"It's not my fault either," I pulled on the right shoe. "And yet somehow it still falls on me to chauffer your lazy self around."

Steve laughed and raked a hand through his yellow hair. "Your burden to bear. Good thing you love me."

I snorted and rolled my eyes, a typical Matt expression. "Yeah, good thing."

* * *

"Isaah 1:18. 'Come now and let us reason together,' says the Lord, 'Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' " Reverend Thrower looked around the room, his aged gaze alighting on the thirty odd teenagers clustered in groups of five behind round wooden tables. "This passage is about foregiveness," the elderly priest explained. "It says that no matter how heinous a crime you commit, the Lord will forgive you, and free you from your sins. You can be made clean again.

Now, that being said I want you, at your table groups, to discuss how you can apply this passage to events in your own lives." Reverend Thrower raised gnarled hands in dismissal. "Discuss."

I found the Youth Group discussions extremely trying. The discussion topics always centered on the impractical, topics like compassion or forgiveness or sacrifice. In my lifetime I had never experienced these abstractions; I did not believe they truly existed. Seated beside my host's best friend, Steve, I tried to maintain the interest that I'm sure my host would have felt during such a discussion.

"Well let's see, forgiveness in our lives" Steve led the table. "Anyone want to go first?"

I gazed phlegmatically around the table at the other human youths, two females and a male, preparing for the long hour ahead of ongoing discussion. One of the females, shrugged in acquiescence to Steve's request.

"Last week my younger sister borrowed my favorite sweater without asking," the female began. "She spilled ketchup on it. I was really mad, but she apologized. So I let her off easy."

The others around the table nodded approvingly, and I mimicked their actions.

This seemed to encourage the other female at the table because she began her own anecdote. "The other day in English class, Mary Reed said that …"

Time seemed to pass cripplingly slow, and then it was Steve's turn to speak.

Steve smiled sheepishly and self-consciously raked a hand through his yellow hair. "I really don't have anything recent to draw upon. No one has done anything really bad to me, and I try hard not to do anything bad to anyone else," he admitted.

"Aww come on Steve," one of the girls cajoled. "That's a cop-out."

"Yeah Super Steve," I gave Matt's expected response, placing a friendly hand on Steve's shoulder. "You're Super Steve, not Saint Steve."

Steve chuckled good-naturedly, his green eyes flashing. "Yeah, yeah. But seriously, the only thing that happened this week is when Mrs. Gruyer added up my English quiz wrong. I brought it to her after class, she apologized, and I _forgave_ her. There. Does that satisfy everyone?"

"Satisfactory, but lame," I replied, shaking Matt's head pityingly. "And actually, I was there, and it was even lamer in person."

Steve laughed. "Not that bad of an example."

"Yeah it was."

"Fine, fine." Steve conceded. "Although I still haven't heard your example, Matt. What's your exciting story about?" He pitched his voice dramatically. "Stealing? Lies? Rape?"

"Well—"

(All of the above,) came a solemn voice. My host. Matt.

I was so surprised to hear my host speaking, that for a moment I lost control, and the shock was etched onto my host's face.

"Dude, I was only kidding," Steve hastily apologized. "I know you don't do stuff like that."

I pasted a reassuring grin to my face. "Yeah, Steve no prob. I just—"

(No, I wouldn't, but the Yeerk would.) My host replied, speaking as if Steve could hear him. For a moment I wondered if Steve could. (But I forgive the Yeerk.)

It was really the last thing I had expected, and for some reason something inside me bristled with unexplained irritation. Forgive me? What did that mean? Was my host admitting defeat? Was the silence of the previous weeks an indication that I had broken his spirit?

But the human I had infested was a tenacious fighter; he would not accept the situation. Forgive me? Ha! What was the human trying to gain?

(What are you trying, human?) I leveled. (Groveling won't improve your situation.)

(I know.) The reply was icy, reminding me of a cornered Baska— subdued, but not broken. (I'm not doing this for you.)

(Why are you doing it then?)

But my host was done speaking, and the other humans at the table were waiting. I returned my attention to the Youth Group discussion.

"Sorry for the zone guys," I apologized in a flippant Matt-way. "I was just thinking about my example. So here's the deal. My best bud mooches rides off me all the time, but he's so pathetic that I can't help but forgive him for it. The end."

"Ha ha, very funny." Steve responded dryly.

"I thought so."

The rest of the Youth Group meeting progressed as normal, and I was able to play Matt's part perfectly. It wasn't until I was back at my host's residence, resting in my host's bed that night that I could think back onto what my host had said.

If my host wasn't maneuvering for his freedom, then what had the human been trying to gain? I did not understand, but at least my host was still intact. Subdued, maybe. Vanquished, never.

Why was the thought comforting?


	7. Chapter 7: Flashback

Thursday early evening, and the typical Youth Group community service project. It was supervised diversions for the children in the children's ward of the hospital again. A group of five sickly children gathered around Steve and I. We were partaking in a recreational game with small colored tickets called Uno.

"I change it to red," Steve announced, placing a multicolored ticket on the top of the Uno ticket stack. Turning his green eyes to me, Steve produced a smug smile.

"What?" I asked blankly.

"You have to draw four, Mr. Matt!" A little boy dressed in dinosaur pajamas squealed. Squealing seemed a requirement while participating in the game of Uno. The squealing boy, Evan, pulled four tickets off the turned-down stack and handed them to me. "And it's my turn now," Evan declared.

Evan stared at his tickets, his face scrunched hard in thought. Then, nodding his head, the child turned to Steve. "Mr. Steve, can you help?" The little boy pleaded, offering his tickets to Steve.

"Of course, Evan," Steve smiled, scooting in closer to the boy. After a few seconds, Steve selected a ticket and handed it to Evan. "Play this one."

Evan smiled gleefully, placing a ticket with half circle arrows onto the stack. "Mr. Matt it's your turn again!"

Although engaging the children provided distraction from an otherwise dull Thursday evening, I still did not understand why I was there doing it. Why was the Youth Group doing it? All around were members of the group, interacting with children in various ways, and like Steve the others seemed to be truly enjoying themselves.

But certainly there had to be some reason other than mere distraction? Because the Thursday gatherings when the Youth Group manned the homeless soup kitchen were anything but enjoyable. The homeless humans at the soup kitchen smelled poorly and acted strangely. We did not play Uno.

And yet, the Youth Group still went. I still went. Steve still went. We helped other humans, and we did not receive profit, or influence, or power. So why did then did we go? What was the Youth Group's motivation?

"Haha! Only one more card left and I am going to win the game," Steve told the children, waving his remaining card.

"But Mr. Steve, you didn't say Uno yet," a little girl missing her two front teeth lisped.

Steve's eyes widened, feigning shock. "I forgot to say Uno?"

The little girl nodded, and smiled in sudden triumph. "Uno!" She squealed. "You have to draw seven cards Mr. Steve!"

"Oh no, Lindsey how could you!"

And then the other children squealed as Steve made a show of counting out seven tickets from the turned-down stack. As I earlier stated, the game of Uno required squealing from the combatants.

Although the objective of the game of Uno was to win, when playing against the children Steve seemed to purposely sabotage his chances for no reason I could fathom. At first I had assumed Steve was employing some sort of counter-intuitive strategy, except that he kept losing. Steve was purposefully throwing the game to allow the children to win, even though the children were far less skilled.

It was reassuring to finally stumble upon some of the duplicity that I _knew_ had existed within the Youth Group. After weeks of suspicion, the Youth Group's true motives were finally emerging. I could not quite reason out how throwing Uno games was related to the Youth Group's true goals, but duplicity is duplicity, and being a Yeerk I knew how seemingly innocent schemes were often smaller summations to a larger purpose.

I waited until after the social event ended, and I was driving Steve home to breach the subject of Steve's deception at Uno.

"So, fun night," I began innocuously.

"Yeah, it was." Steve readily agreed. His gaze was fixed forward, watching idly as trees and houses passed by. "I love hanging with the kids. They're so cool."

"I know. They really get into playing Uno," I casually observed.

Steve grinned. "Yeah, they do! Did you see Evan after he won the first time? That dance? Hilarious!"

We shared a laugh.

"You'd think he never wins or something," I noted.

Steve shrugged.

"Actually, Evan and the other kids seemed to be winning a lot tonight." I said carefully gauging Steve's reaction. He didn't tense—a good sign.

Slowing the car for a stop sign, I turned to Steve seemingly thoughtful. "You know, it almost seemed to me that you were purposely allowing the children to win." I figuratively leveled the Dracon. "At the expense of your own chances, actually."

Accelerating the car through the intersection, I coolly waited for Steve's reaction. It was not what I expected.

Steve was snickering. Tossing his yellow hair in outright laughter. "Dude, what's wrong with you? Of course I let them win!"

He continued laughing, oblivious to my incredulousness. The human admitted to the duplicity, but he was treating it as a joke.

"Why?" I couldn't help but wonder.

Steve continued to chuckle, but then suddenly seemed to realize I was being earnest. "Are you serious Matt?" He asked, slightly surprised. "Because they're sick kids, and their lives really suck. If winning a stupid card game makes them a little bit happy, then let them."

"No other reason?"

"What because making sick kids happy isn't a good enough reason?" Steve laughed**. **"Of course no other reason."

How could there be no other reason? How could this youth—this youth and my host before I had infested him—voluntarily spend time with these defective children for no other reason but to make the children happy? Surely there _had_ to be another reason.

"And what about at the homeless shelter?" Only too late, I realized that I had voiced the question aloud.

Steve frowned, suddenly taking in my distress. "Dude, you've been acting a little off lately. Is everything okay lately?"

"Uhh- yeah, everything's peachy," I flashed a Matt-like grin.

Steve's frown deepened. "Don't pull that crap on me, man. I'm your best bud since kindergarten teeball. Dude, talk to me."

I was confused and frustrated—had been for weeks—and finally an opportunity presented itself that would allow that confusion and frustration to be put to rest.

"Why?" I asked, finally the question that I wanted answered so badly. "Why do you go? Why do _I_ go? To the hospital? To the homeless shelter? To the nursing home? What's the point?" I almost growled.

Silence. The sound of the air streaming past the car as we slowly coasted through the neighborhoods.

And then finally Steve's reply. Cautious. Intent. None of Steve's usual wittiness filtering through. "I go because I want to help. Because I _can_ help."

I didn't see how. The kids were defective when we entered, defective when we left. The humans at the homeless shelter were obviously mentally incompetent—incurably incompetent—and the elderly at the nursing home were locked away from the rest of the society for a reason.

Something must have shown on my face.

"No seriously, Matt. I know there's a lot of bad stuff out there, and I know that I can't help everyone, but I can help Evan. I can help Lindsey. I can give food to crazy old Nick. I can make their lives just a little bit happier. Me, I can do that."

That was it? Making others happy? That was the entire reason to go.

Impossible.

"But what are you getting out of it?" I demanded.

"What do you mean 'what am I getting out of it?'"

Steve was making less and less sense.

"What. Are. You. Getting. Out. Of. It."

Steve was staring at me like he didn't know me. Which, of course, he didn't. "Dude, you do Youth Group twice a week, church for two hours on Sunday, and now that Sharing club all Saturday, and you're asking me this?"

I was silent in reply.

"What's with you lately?" Steve asked, mostly to himself. "Okay, Matt. Here's what I get out of it. Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yeah, nothing."

"And everybody else at Youth Group?" I hazarded.

"Nothing."

Steve's face was completely without guile and so sure of what he was saying, that it was at that moment that I realized he was telling the truth.

I felt even more confused.

I did not understand humans.

* * *

After leaving Steve at his residence, I headed to the McDonald's Restaurant a small distance away. A short time later I was kneeling my host body on the disembarkment platform in front of the pool. The Hork Bajir on duty lazily kept guard, his Dracon beam trained on the deinfested hosts being forced to their waiting cages, willing the newly freed to try something and relieve him of his boredom.

As I extradited myself from my host's body, I felt that terrifying moment when, still encased in the host's cranium, I lost all control of my host body and the host regained all control. It was only for a few seconds—not nearly enough time for the host to try anything— but it was nerve-racking none the less. Then I felt my Yeerk body freefalling through air, followed almost immediately by the cool caress of pool water on my skin. I was free.

It was a great relief to be swimming in the Yeerk pool. Things were so much simpler when I was soaking up Kandrona rays. I understood the Yeerk Empire, and I understood my part in it. I did not have to deal with the bizarre intricacies that pervaded human society.

(Iden, you lazy Andalite, it's about time!) Tristan greeted me as I reached our corner of the pool.

It was nice to hear my name.

(Got out late from Youth Group,) I explained.

Tristan and I had coordinated our feeding schedules, and so we were able to see each other for about an hour or so every three days.

Tristan sneered. (Babysitting defective human children again?)

I laughed, heartened to be around my oldest friend. (Something like that.)

(That's even worse than spending all day writing traffic violations,) Tristan scoffed. (At least my host has a weapon I can amuse myself with. What do you do with defective human children?)

(I've been trying to determine that myself.)

(Humans.) Tristan snorted in contempt.

(Humans,) I agreed.

It was a relief to be around someone who thought the humans as strange as I did.

(So besides Youth Group, how have your last three days been?) Tristan asked.

We talked a little. I told him about the pop quiz in Mr. Brown's math class that I had failed, and the amazing chicken fettuccini Mrs. Hutchinson had made for dinner the night before.

(Daily dealings, fine.) Tristan concluded. (But Iden, my friend, what about the hosts that you've brought?)

I was silent in reply.

(Iden, you know you have to recruit.)

(It's part of my duty,) I sighed. ( I know.)

I did know. The Empire demanded that all Controllers recruit host bodies to serve as receptacles for their Yeerk brethren. It was part of my duty to the Empire. I also knew that I had no idea how to go about recruiting. Besides the difficulty involved in enticing human recruits (the Empire preferred voluntary if possible), I felt a strange reluctance, almost apprehension, for the idea. It was probably just nervousness, I knew. Fear of not doing a good job at recruiting or of embarrassing myself or Tristan_._

(Iden, Iden,) Tristan chided. (Did you know that the other Controllers are asking me about you? I've brought seven hosts in, but you? You haven't even brought a single human to the Sharing yet.)

I swirled my palps through the water unhappily. (The other Controllers are asking about me?)

(Yes, you need to start recruiting other hosts.)

I sighed again. It seemed I was _already_ embarrassing Tristan. (You make it sound so easy. You had five recruits lining up before you started,) I reminded Tristan. His host body was a policeman who had joined the Sharing and before becoming infested had encouraged his other officers to do likewise. (How am I supposed to recruit?)

Tristan was thoughtful. (The Sharing BBQ at the center this Saturday. You just bring someone with you,) Tristan instructed. (You get them to come, and I'll take care of the rest.)

Tristan always knew what to do which is why in our youthful daydreaming I always played Visser Two to his Visser One. With Tristan's help, I would recruit. I pushed the uneasiness into the back corner of my mind where it belonged. Nerves or not, I would begin recruiting.

I spent a little more time splashing around the pool before it was time for Tristan and I to leave.

(I'll see you on Saturday, Iden,) Tristan offered as a parting comment. (Bring a good one.)


	8. Chapter 8

"I remember what happened last night, Matt. You shot us."

Mrs. Townley's accusation rang out starkly across the confines of the mini-van. For a moment the only noise to be heard was the soft whooshing of the passing interstate traffic overlaid with the drone of the talk radio program. The disc jokey was still rambling on about tulip bulbs. And then there was a great gusto of sound, as each of the adults- Terez's parents and Matt's mother- ignited with reaction.

"Matt if you have hurt my family in any way-"

"My son wouldn't do that. He wouldn't-"

"-I will make sure that-"

"Dad he didn't hurt anyone."

"Terez, you don't understand what that boy is doing and-"

"- Dad, I'm serious he didn't do anything -"

"Not my Matty! He couldn't."

"Alec, I'm sure that Terez has a good reason—"

"Mom, you have to understand that-"

"Maria he brought a weapon into our home and-"

"Matty is a good boy, he-"

"-tasered our family with it-"

"Dad, you need to-"

The parents were quickly working themselves into a frenzy, and the noise in the mini-van struck a fortissimo. It was surprising that little Andi, Terez's five year old sister, was still passed out in her car seat- although Andi had been stunned on a Dracon beam setting that had been strong enough to knock out both her parents.

(Well this is going to be a tough crowd,) Matt remarked in the recesses of our shared mind.

(Not if we can't even get their attention,) I returned. (Then it's no crowd.)

(Don't worry, I've got this.)

For a moment it was like old times, that easy symbiosis we had once shared, as Matt effortlessly took control of our shared vocal chords, and I continued to guide the mini-van.

"Everyone please calm down, and we'll try to explain what is happening here!" Matt demanded in his most authoritative short-stop voice- the one that could be heard equally well from home plate as from far left field.

The mini-van went silent, save for the white background noise of the AM radio. I felt, rather than saw all eyes in the mini-van directed on me, well on "Matt" to be more precise.

(Should I do the talking Iden, or do you want to?) Matt asked soberly.

(I'll do it,) I replied. (I'm the reason they're all here, after all.)

(Well just let me know if I should step in. You talk, and I'll keep driving.)

(Thanks.)

There was no hesitation as I relinquished control of my host's body back to my host. Hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly and then loosened, eyes wandered slightly to the left and then refocused forward. Slowly at first, and then much quicker, Matt's brain reestablished command to his body. I waited a few more seconds until Matt was confidently maneuvering the mini-van alongside the early morning interstate traffic before grasping at our shared vocal chords. Then taking a steadying breath, I began.

"I need to tell you something," I addressed the three adults seated in the back of the mini-van. "It's going to sound, well, insane comes to mind, but it's real. It's very real, and it affects each of you."

"Something very bad has been happening in our town, in our state. It's been going on for a few years now, in secret. And Terez and I are a part of it."

"Part of what exactly?" I could hear Mr. Townley's fierce protectiveness as he processed the words _bad_ and _Terez_.

"Well you see, Mr. T -" I hesitated. How to explain Yeerks? Controllers? Terez didn't know that I, Iden two-seven-four, even existed. And now was most certainly not the time to reveal myself to her. To any of them. "Err, well you see..."

"Part of what, Matt?" Mr. Townley was growing impatient. (And after being shot and kidnapped from his dinner table the night before, he had every right to be).

"Well Mr. T," I wheedled. "There's really not an easy way to say this-"

"Matt and I were abducted by aliens. We escaped. They're after us." Terez cut in flatly.

(That was easy.) Matt remarked.

Like a shock wave after a sudden explosion, the mini-van was swept into a silence that was both abrupt and tangible. For a good thirty seconds the adults waited for Terez to toss out the punchline in what was rapidly becoming a less and less amusing prank. She didn't.

"Terez, Matty," Matt's mother offered finally, her usually confident voice at a loss for what she should say. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"No Mom," Matt replied for us.

"Are you kids doing some kind of drugs?" And only Mrs. Townley's soft-spoken demeanor could keep those words from sounding like an accusation.

"No we're not on drugs, Mom." Terez affirmed.

"I, I don't understand," Mrs. Townley confessed unhappily. "You tasered us. I woke up in the van. You're talking about aliens. And now we're going to – where are we going?"

"Mexico, Mom."

"Mexico?"

"This isn't funny. I want you kids to stop this car. Immediately." Matt flicked our eyes to the rear-view mirror, and I was a given a brief moment to study Mr. Townley's face. Anger, warring with disbelief. Dismay. And anxiety so apparent, it was obvious that he thought his eldest daughter was suffering from some sort of delusion.

"Not trying to be funny Dad." Terez replied, in a tone serious enough to orate a eulogy. "Just give us five minutes. Please just give us five minutes to explain. No talking."

It seemed that Mr. Townley would argue, but Terez's face was commanding in a way I'd never seen. She was a younger version of her father: as fiercely protective of her family as he was.

"Five minutes," Mr. Townley allowed. "Talk."

Matt flicked our gaze to the rear-view mirror, and we watched Mrs. Townley and Matt's mother nod in agreement, at a loss to do anything else. Matt's gaze then flickered to Terez in the passenger seat. She offered a tiny, reassuring smile.

"Okay, Matt." Terez instructed. "Take it from the top."

I began again. "It's like Terez said. Alien Abduction." Not a lie. "Earth is being secretly invaded. The invaders are a race of aliens called Yeerks."

"Yeerks are a race of parasites. In their natural state, they resemble garden slugs. Yeerks live in the Yeerk Pool, and are basically immobile. They have no natural sense of taste, smell, sight, or hearing. They have only a sense of touch, and communicate mind-to-mind through thought-speak. However, when a Yeerk controls a host, they have access to all the host's senses."

"The Yeerks have come to this planet, to collect human hosts, whether those hosts are willing or not. Most hosts aren't willing. A Yeerk takes over its host, by latching onto the host's brain. In humans, the Yeerk enters at the ear, crawling through the ear canal until directly accessing the brain. Once the brain is accessed, the Yeerk completely controls its host. Unless the Yeerk allows the host its free will, the host becomes the Yeerk's slave, little more than a private vessel. The Yeerk Empire has conquered many species."

And I could hear Tristan's swaggering thought-speak in my head, ever boasting of the Empire's many achievements. When did the conquests stop filling me with pride? Did they ever fill me with pride? Why had I ever listened to Tristan?

"Yeerks can access the hosts' memories." I continued. "They can see everything about the host. Everything. They can pretend to be the host so well, that not even the host's loved ones can tell that the host is infested." I shifted uncomfortably. Too much truth in what I was saying. "And the Yeerk can make the host body do anything the Yeerk wants. Anything."

Anything.

I paused, awash with shame.

The last few months. The atrocities I had committed. Had made my host witness. Why had I ever listened to Tristan?

(I am so sorry Matt,) I apologized in the privacy of our shared thoughts.

(I know.) I could hear the rueful smile in Matt's words. (But you finally got your head out of your ass, Iden, and you're here now trying to rescue everyone, and so we're okay. Not great, but okay).

(Okay.)

It was more than I expected. It was more than I deserved.

Okay.

"The Yeerks are everywhere," Terez was saying. "They've overrun Greenwood, probably all of California soon. I've seen Controllers who are cops and teachers and EMTs. I'm pretty sure the entire Greenwood city council are Controllers. I've heard that some of the higher-level state official are as well. Up until yesterday evening, I was a Controller. So was Matt. But we escaped."

"The Yeerks are hunting us. It is not safe in Greenwood or in California, or anywhere in this country. Not for us, and not for you." Terez's tone brooked no argument. "We can never go back."

Silence once again, and the weight of three sets of eyes as the three adults processed what they'd just been told. And then -

"Terez, you and Matt need to turn this car right around," Mr. Townley's said quietly. Stonily.

"We're not going back Dad." Terez replied tightly.

"This is nonsense Terez."

"No Dad, it's real. It's _real_. I've never lied to you before, and I'm not lying now."

"Terez, sweetheart, it's not that we don't believe that you believe this is real," Mrs. Townley's soft-spoken voice offered. "It's just that it's kind of hard to grasp."

(Because you're both insane,) Matt finished drly. (Or in a cult. Or on drugs. Or in an insane cult that does drugs.)

"That's fine Mom," Terez was terse. "Take all the time you need to grasp. But we're not turning the car around."

"Terez-"

"Matty," Mrs. Hutchinson, the voice of reason, broke into the fray. "Terez, you can't just take us from our homes."

"We don't have a choice, Mom," Matt took control of our shared voice. His eyes met his mother's deep blue gaze in the reflection of the rear-view mirror.

"Matty," Mrs. Hutchinson pleaded, willing her son to just act like the warm, loving boy she'd raised, and not this deranged, possible drug addict, who shot and then kidnapped people.

"Sorry Mom," Matt replied thickly. "We can't."

Something in Mrs. Hutchinson's eyes dimmed. I felt Matt's unhappiness as keenly as my own at his mother's disappointment in us. In Matt. In who she thought was Matt. In – did it really matter?

"We're doing it to keep you safe," I added, wanting so badly for Mrs. Hutchinson to understand. For Matt's sake. For my own.

"Terez, Matt, this has gone on long enough," Mr. Townley's frustration was hinging on anger. From the back of the mini-van, he made to stand.

"Please Dad," Terez bridled. "Just calm down."

But Mr. Townley was moving to the front of the mini-van. Resolute.

"Terez, I'm not arguing with you," Mr. Townley's voice carried the full weight of his status as head of the Townley household. "You. Will. Turn. This. Car. Around. Now."

Mr. Townley was now standing by the middle passenger door, directly across from the form of his youngest child, Andi, who was still slouching unconscious in her car seat. With fierce brown eyes, Mr. Townley stared down at his eldest child who twisted around in the front passenger seat to stare back. Terez's deep blue eyes held his gaze.

A silent battle of wills.

And then, fingers trembling, Terez carefully exposed the Dracon beam from her jacket pocket. Leveled the weapon at her father.

"No Dad."

And the innocuous AM radio tulip bulb chatter crafted a bizarre counterpoint to the white-hot silence suddenly blanketing the mini-van.

Terez flipped the weapon's controls to stun. "No Dad," her voice was flat with carefully contained emotion as, for the first time in her young life, Terez overrode her father's authority. "We're not turning around. And if you try to make us, I will shoot you."


End file.
